Today is my birthday, and I'm announcing a change. For the next week everything under 5000 words is 30 percent off.
As a note I do not take payment until completion of the piece and the price we negotiate is what you pay. So if I am excessively verbose and write double what you ordered? No problem you still pay the original agreed upon price.
I'm trying to make some extra money to buy myself something for my 24th removal day (I was a cesarean and me and my mom have an odd sense of humor) so keep the commissions coming. Love you all and have a lovely day.
Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?
Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next
x x x x x
If you like what I create, please consider my patreon or my ko-fi!
Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)
x x x x x
After the ordeal of dealing with Jemma and setting up a cage for the gliders, the following weeks, ironically, were quiet.
Or maybe you were just so laser-focused on finding a house, nothing else permeated your thoughts.
Tabaeus and you continue the established feeding schedule. They still ‘snacked’ when they could get away with it. However, they did honor your denials. An unforeseen benefit of the sugar gliders was Tabaeus wasn’t prone to lonely wanderings to find you when you went to work. It was honestly a relief. The day after he brought the new furry family members home, you’d been so concerned they’d show up again. It was almost eerie when they didn’t.
Your real estate search also eventually bears fruit.
The house you find, the one that calls out to you, is an old house, built in the 1800s, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. A lovely shade of blue, with a large porch and fenced-in backyard. There’s even two stone gargoyles that keep watch from the stoop.
It is located downtown, in an older part of the city. Which essentially means a diverse neighborhood filled with old homes, remodels, renters, and homeowners along with families, childless couples, and singletons.
With two stories, plus a basement and attic, it’s roomy enough for your - grudgingly - growing family- …er, roomateship? Plus there’s a detached garage and roomy kitchen with plenty of storage for appliances. Off the dining room, a greenhouse is attached. The basement is unfinished, which means Tabaeus is less likely to sleep there, but the freezer the previous owner left behind made up for it.
Strangely, it has been on the market for the better part of a year. Either no one had placed an offer or the owner was excessively picky. Regardless, you contacted your real estate agent and asked for a tour. You and Tabaeus walked through the house, pointing out little things you liked and little problems that would need fixing.
By the end, however, the two of you agreed it certainly felt like home. From there, it had been back-and-forth discussions, inspections, and negotiations. It looked like the closing was on the horizon. Which meant gathering the additional funds together for the house and closing costs was needed.
That led you to your current undertaking with Tabaeus. Which entailed the two of you bumbling about in the local sewers.
“Why in the world do you have a cache of treasure here?” It’s not the first time you ask the question and it likely won’t be the last. Every inch of your body is covered in clothing, plus a mask to fight off the stench of the sewage. The acrid scent still manages to get into your nose and you’re certain you’ll have to burn the clothes once you get back to the apartment.
Tabaeus throws you a look, as if to say ‘Are you genuinely asking that of I, your amnesiac vampire friend?’ Their expression is no less stormy than yours.
They are dressed in just as much as you, in a dark hoodie, their hair tucked under the hood, and long pants and boots. Only their red glowing eyes are visible above their mask. An odd comfort, you realize.
Your expression doesn’t falter and they sigh, shoulders slumping as they turn their flashlight back down the corridor. “I honestly do not know. I just know it is here.”
“Well, hurry it up. We’re not even supposed to be down here.” You hiss, jumping out of the way of a rat scurrying by.
“Patience,” Tabaeus sighs, swinging their lone beam of light to and fro. They’re mumbling to themselves, their gloved hand tracing the wall. There’s no way a hidden compartment or room is down here, you think. There’s literally no way. The city would know about it! And if the city knew about it, it would’ve been pilfered a long time ago.
Something pinged at Tabaeus’s memory as they started to stride with more purpose. You followed after them, weakly hoping this wasn’t an utterly useless endeavor. It would just figure that, once you pursued a house, your vampire patron would run dry in finances. Or just not be able to find their literal treasure trove.
You’re not sure how they managed to do it, but you watch as Tabaeus’s touches a certain spot in the wall and twists a nearby knob. For a breathless second, you tense, waiting to hear the clatter of broken pipes or heightened water pressure. But you hear the sound of metal and rock shifting and your eyes widen as an entryway slides open in the wall.
Tabaeus glances to you over their shoulder, a teasing smirk in their voice as they hold out their hand to you. “See? The universe rewards those who hold their tongue.”
You accept their hand, but shoot them a sharp look. It only makes their smirk broaden as they turn to lead you through the darker-than-pitch corridor. Your heart pounds as the world around you turns to deep shadows. There’s no way to spy any silhouettes or make out faint shapes of pipes or gaskets. It’s all so dark. And quiet. You don’t even hear the skittering of rats.
It grows even darker as the door slides shut behind you. You jerk, turning to look, but only see a blanket of black. Fear dances in your stomach.
Sensing your apprehension, Tabaeus gives your hand a squeeze. “I am here.”
“I know,” you mumble as you turn back around, your face flaring with embarrassed heat. Their presence is part of the problem, though. They are a vampire. They feast on your blood. And though you two have grown closer, more amicable, you’re worried where this all will end. It may not be tomorrow or in the year or even in ten years, but Tabaeus could always turn on you and then go on with their life.
Whenever you think of the disparate lifespans between you two, you find yourself wondering if you made a mistake.
“I believe this is it,” Tabaeus says, rousing you from your thoughts. “Shield your eyes a moment.”
You do as they say, before you listen to Tabaeus fumble in the dark. There’s a click and you see lights flash behind your eyelids. Carefully, you squint open your eyes, letting them slowly adjust. After a few rapid blinks, your eyes widen.
It appears to be a huge corridor, with a tiled ceiling - plastered with cobwebs - and arching buttresses. Thankfully, it seems relatively dry, with no oozing sewage to squelch underfoot. It’s not until your eye catches the dip in the floor, where railroad track is laid, that you realize this is an old train station or, perhaps, a closed section on a route. You take a few steps farther down the line. The lighting casts a slightly yellow tint on everything in the vicinity. And there is certainly a lot in the vicinity.
Furniture, racks of clothing, mannequins, shelving. It’s a mishmash of things from different decades, perhaps even eras. You try to peer down the corridor, but the haphazard piles seem to go on forever with only carefully carved paths between their bases. The mingling scent of dust and mildew hang heavy in the air, along with rotting wood, but there’s perfumes you wouldn’t expect. Faintly, you wonder if there’s colognes or potpourris in the mess of miscellany.
Tabaeus suddenly appears again at your elbow and you jump with a yelp.
“My apologies,” they say, offering you an awkward smile. At some point, they had lowered the mask they wore and it hung beneath their chin. In their hands is a large wooden box, an ancient latch on its side.
You nod to it. “What’s in there?”
“Replenished funds!” With a flourish, they open the lid to show off the contents. Inside are more gold coins and jewelry and gems. Much of it looks about the same time period as the other payments you’ve taken from them.
“Why don’t you live here?” The thought strikes you quick and you glance around again. It is roomy and, with a little bit of elbow grease, you’re certain it can become a livable place. Heck, there was probably an old abandoned train car somewhere further down the track. “I’m sure there’s enough things to live comfortably and you could probably head up top for… food, when you need it.”
You stumble when you think of what Tabaeus would have to do to survive in this place. Without thinking, you rub at the spot on your neck that has grown bruised from multiple feedings. The courage to let Tabaeus feed from somewhere else has yet to take root.
“There are a number of reasons,” Tabaeus admits, closing the wooden box. Their shoulders hunch a little as they gaze about, their fingers playing with the latch of the box in their arms. “It is grimy and dusty. Not to mention rather isolating.”
At that last point, they wince. You can’t help the curiosity needling through your thoughts. Thus far, Tabaeus hasn’t mentioned other vampires nor anyone else for that matter. Even if his amnesia was a result of a long sleep, you think there’d be someone they’d remember.
“Besides, I have found I quite enjoy being in the presence of others. Especially you.” You focus on Tabaeus again. They smile crookedly at you, their red eyes flickering from your gaze to your reddening cheeks. More than once, Tabaeus has admitted to enjoying how your cheeks color.
Needing to break up the sudden warm heaviness surrounding you two, you scoff, “That’s me, your little blood bag.”
That draws Tabaeus’s eyes back to your own, an ember in their red depths. “You’re my amata trinkaĵo, actually.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve been upgraded to a drink instead of a bag,” you snort and roll your eyes. Tabaeus had actually taken to calling you Amata on occasion. And each time, you shot them a dirty look. In return, they’d only grin.
This time, however, Tabaeus’s smile is soft and a little sad. They notice your stare and instantly reel back, clearing their throat as they cast their eyes about.
“Can you hold this? I might be able to find other little bits that are fairly valuable,” they ask, holding out the wooden box to you. With a nod, you relieve Tabaeus of the crate, grunting as you realize how heavy it is. They don’t seem to notice your struggle as they turn, off to investigate further.
“Do you think you’ll remember anything if you poke around here?” The question comes so sudden and soft to your lips, you almost think Tabaeus didn’t hear it. But, they did, and they stop suddenly, turning their eyes back to you. It’s a roundabout question that you hope will stir their memories or a nugget of information to research. “There’s got to be tons of memorabilia here.”
“I… do not know.” A complicated expression creases at Tabaeus’s face, their eyes drifting from one item to the next. It wasn’t a complete refusal, though, and they wander toward an old wardrobe. You watch as they pull out the drawers and shuffle through them. Papers, knick-knacks, photos. Picking every little thing up and examining it carefully.
“Some things stir memories,” they admit, after a long few moments. You perk up, edging closer to them, though your loot weighs you down. Tabaeus tilts a photo toward you and you squint, looking over an array of faces frozen in time. “I feel I know these people. As if I grew up with them, but I cannot tell you their names or what year this was taken in.”
They flip the photo back into the drawer it came from, before pulling out another paper. It looks like a letter, typed up on an old-timey typewriter. “And this here. I recognize the name Reginald Taylor. He was a chemist at a general store on Gooseberry Boulevard. Where that is, though, or how long I knew him, I have not the foggiest.”
With a sigh, Tabaeus drops the note into its home drawer. With another look cast about the corridor, creases of wretchedness continue to mark their features.
“What is it?” You start to lift your hand to touch their shoulder, before realizing you’re still hauling the gold around.
“There are many bad memories,” Tabaeus shakes their head, taking a few steps away from you. Their expression is strained and you think you see their eyes growing glassy, wet. “Deaths by feeding and other means. Blackmail. Extortion. Cruelty.”
You’re not sure what to say, so you just remain quiet. Though your mind races with questions and theories.
It’s when Tabaeus speaks again, their words making your stomach lurch, your worries solidify. “I… I do not believe I am a good person.”
“What?” Without thinking you take a step closer. Your heart pounds and a spike of adrenaline has made you grow hot. A small fear of betrayal lashes in you - they said ‘am’ not ‘was’ a bad person - but you hold it down. “What did you remember?”
At that, Tabaeus’s eyes dart to your face. A pained expression crosses their features briefly, before they manage to push it away. Their eyes draw away from you, their shoulders hunching. “Must I speak of it?”
Boldly or foolishly, you take another step forward. Your voice hardens. “Am I in danger?”
“No, not from me,” Tabaeus startles at the accusation, their eyebrows drawing upward. “Never from me.”
You press on, ignoring how a nervous flutter at those two words joins the pounding of your heart.“ Do others pose a danger to me?”
Tabaeus’s lips pressed together, looking sad and wretched. Once more, their eyes flicker away from you, their fingers fidgeting with each other. “That I am not sure of.”
“I would appreciate knowing whatever you know, Tabaeus.” They flinch at the hard sharpness in your tone, but it’s something that has to be said. Your mind is going a mile a minute, trying to confirm Tabaeus is a threat or make excuses for them. The longer you look at the misery dancing on his face, you sigh. “The memories may not be yours. They may be that of those you’ve fed on. Or maybe you have some sort of tactile memory powers.”
That makes curiosity cut through their gloom. “Tactile memory powers?”
With a shrug, you try to explain as simply as possible. “It’s like the ability to see memories tied to an object.”
“Have you heard of such things?” Skepticism has Tabaeus’s eyes narrowing, obviously not believing you.
“I mean, in comics and stuff.” Now it’s your turn to shrug. You’re suddenly aware that you’re still holding the box of valuables, your muscles aching from holding it. “You’re literally a vampire, so I figure we keep our options open?”
“That is true.” They do not sound convinced, though. Their dismal gaze scans the room, the furrow between their eyebrows deepening.
An awkward silence falls between the two of you. Tabaeus quietly wanders off after a polite amount of time, digging through items on the far side of the corridor. Still holding the box of treasure in your hands, you’re not entirely certain what to do. Carefully, you set the valuables down on a larger trunk. After letting your arms rest, you decide to poke about the area yourself.
Half of your brain is looking for valuables or anything of interest. Any old little oddity or fascinating book or strange gadget. The other half is looking for information on Tabaeus. Photos, documents, anything that may lead to information.
“I know you are searching ways to kill vampires.” Tabaeus’s words, coming from behind you, makes you freeze.
You spin around, staring wide-eyed at Tabaeus. Suddenly, you are very aware you are underground, in a hidden place only Tabaeus knows of. Without thinking, your eyes dart around, hoping to scope out an exit. However, your brain starts wondering if the mounds of items are hiding dead bodies in their depths. Are those bad memories that keep Tabaeus from living here actually the souls of his victims?
“My apologies! I did not mean to startle you. I am not angry about it, I understand the need to protect yourself,” they rush to explain, their own eyes widening as they realize how worried you were. You believe they would raise their hands in supplication, if it weren’t for yet another box in their grasp. Warily, you stare at it, wondering what it could hold.
“I recalled this being here. Tied to those awful memories.” Tabaeus mumbles before you can ask. Slowly, as if they were approaching a scared animal, they hold the box out to you. It takes you a breath to realize they’re offering it to you to take. With lips pressed tight together, you don’t take the box, but instead flip the lid open.
As you look at Tabaeus, a rush of confusion swarming your brain, they look away. Their shoulders jerk, as if to hunch in on themself, but holding out the box keeps them from performing the action.
“What is this, Tabaeus?” With a shaking hand, you reach into the box and pull out a wooden stake. It’s old and gnarled looking, but there is a heft to it that isn’t like other modern day wooden items you’ve held. There’s other items in the box, as well.
Herbs and vials, bits of silver, a cross, a mirror, bound bags of who-knows-what, and more. At the very bottom, under everything, is what looks to be a notebook - perhaps a journal - with a crackling leather cover.
Their answer surprises you. “From what I remember, this is a vampire hunting kit.”
“Why would you have this here?” It didn’t make sense to you. Why would they have things around that could kill them? Though a small, dark part of you answers.
“I may have killed a few vampire hunters in my time.” Tabaeus shrugs, as if taling about murder is no big deal. Though, you wryly suppose it’s more self-defense, if these hunters were trying to kill Tabaeus. Your momentary amusement is gone when they voice what that dark part of you guessed, “Or perhaps it is just something all vampires keep. In case eternity becomes too great a burden.”
You gently place the stake back into the box, closing the lid with a snap. “And why are you showing me this?”
“It is yours. For your protection.” It is not a threat, you realize. Their words are too soft, their eyes downcast, their body language submissive for them to seem dangerous. “A token of my sincerity that I will never hurt you, but if I ever do, do not hesitate to use what is in this box.”
The logical, paranoid part of you snorts derogatorily at the statement. There were any number of ways a sly vampire could sully a vampire hunting kit. The wrong herbs, fake silver, tap water in place of holy water. And it wasn’t as if you hadn’t left Tabaeus alone for long swaths of time for them to concoct such a ploy.
You had already begun stashing a cache of items at home and planning to grow anti-vampire herbs in your new greenhouse. Getting stakes was even easier, you’d found out, after being pointed toward the varieties available in the camping eisles. Nothing in lore said it had to be a wooden stake.
It is a struggle to believe Tabaeus would put together a fake vampire hunting kit. It seems too maliciously conniving. But, you suppose, if this was all an act, you wouldn’t know what Tabaeus would or wouldn’t do. Now would you?
Although, you are very curious to know what was in the journal. That is the only reason you relieve them of the box and offer up an uneasy smile to them, “Thank you, Tabaeus. I appreciate the understanding.”
For once, they do not reply. They merely nod, humming an acknowledgement, as their gaze refuses to meet yours.
“We should head back home. I’m sure Bjarka and Liuva are missing you.” You attempt to lighten the mood, balancing the much lighter box on your hip. With an nod to the heavier treasure-filled box, you ask, “Can you take that one? You’re stronger than me.”
With a silent nod, they shuffle to the other box and heft it in their arms. You can’t even tell if it weighs anything to the vampire. There’s no strain to their muscles, no bowing of their back.
Tabaeus finally looks at you and opens their mouth, as if to say something. But it instantly snaps closed and they look away from you.
“What?” You take a step closer to them, cocking your head as your free hand lightly touches their arm. The touch draws the attention of their eyes. Slowly, their gaze travels up your arm and tingles follow their path.
“Will you miss me?” Their words are soft, almost lost under the buzzing of the overhead lights. “When we part, I mean. Whenever that is.”
You raise your eyebrows, trying to ignore the heavy grief painting the air around Tabaeus. “Are you planning to leave me?”
“No.”
There’s no ‘not yet’ or any other implication they ever thought to leave you. Just a simple ‘no.’ You wonder how far into the future Tabaeus has thought, has planned. Are they thinking just a week ahead? A month? A year? Ten years?
The thought brings a rush of conflicting sensations, warring for dominance in your chest. Overwhelming emotions make you feel the slightest bit dizzy. Abruptly, you pull your hand from Tabaeus and turn back the way you came, crisply saying, “That’s better to ask when your leaving is inevitable, don’t you think?”
You feel Tabaeus’s eyes on your back. It makes those rush of contrary feelings spike and you swallow down uncertain tears. Finally, their feet start to shuffle after you and they say, a little defeatedly, “Yes, I suppose you are correct.”
The two of you walk in silence, both carrying your own heavy baggage as you traverse the dark. When Tabaeus turns the lights off behind you - your hand already on the fabric of their jacket to be guided out - the forgotten world of items is plunged back into darkness.
You can’t help but feel the two of you carry much more than the two boxes out of that place, though.
x x x x x
If you like what I create, please consider my patreon or my ko-fi!
Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)
Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?
Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next
x x x x x
Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)
Also, my inbox is always open for asks, so don’t be shy!
x x x x x
A sudden surge pulses through the air between the two as their eyes meet. It's like unseen forces, snapping jaws at each other. In that moment, you are painfully aware of how they dwarf you in height, though Tabaeus is certainly taller than Ewan.
Ewan's nostrils flares, his eyes narrowing as his head cocks to the side at Tabaeus. The smile on his lips loses its friendliness and you can't help but think of it like a snarl. "Yeah. We used to work together at the mall."
"How intriguing," Tabaeus purrs as they raise their eyebrows. Their hands twitch on yours. Something is not being said between the two and you're not entirely sure it has anything to do with you. A masked sort of haughtiness mingles with jest as Tabaeus nods to Ewan's work shirt. "From the mall to the streets? Some would consider that a step down."
"I work in a lot of places," Ewan retorts, his eyebrows lowering as the slightest bite of embarrassment flushes their cheeks. Your former colleague angles their attention back to you, though they seem to have a hard time not glaring at Tabaeus's arms locking you in place. "Who's this guy?"
With a sigh, you nod to the vampire, "This is Tabaeus, my roommate. They/them."
"And he/him," they added, with a pointed tone to Ewan. You think they give your hands another squeeze, but you're not entirely certain it was a conscious movement.
"And he/him," you correct yourself. Craning your neck to look up at Tabaeus, you try to catch their eyes with your own meaningful look. However, the vampire's attention is squarely on your former colleague. "This is Ewan, he/him."
"Pleasure." The word comes out more like a hiss as Tabaeus flashes a smile at Ewan. You want to groan, seeing that the vampire's fangs are on full display.
Thankfully, Ewan doesn't seem put off as he mimics Tabaeus's polite toothy grimace with one of his own. Part of you wonders if his canines have always been so angular and sharp. "Likewise."
The pressure in the air weighs heavier than it did before. A need to do something to alleviate the tension shoots through you, instinct telling you something bad will happen if you don't.
"I won't keep you, Ewan." Behind you, Tabaeus relaxes, until you add with a softer tone, "We can text or chat online later, okay?"
Tabaeus completely forgotten, Ewan's attention turns fully to you. The friendliness returns to his smile, his posture easing. "Sure. Your number on your receipt?"
You mirror his smile and give a nod, even as you feel a strange coldness wrap around Tabaeus. Their stillness has a strange air to it, but you try to ignore it. "Yeah, feel free to snag it there and shoot me a text."
"Cool, cool." Ewan glances at the copy of the receipt he has in hand, as if already dedicating your number to memory in his head. Your stomach swirls as he looks back up at you, offering you that warm smile - not even glancing at Tabaeus - before he turns to go. "Well, have a good night."
Awkwardly, you and Tabaeus watch Ewan trod down the walk to his car, though you get the distinct impressions you watch the delivery man for different reasons. Once Ewan turns his car on, Tabaeus yoinks the food from your grasp and heads inside.
You spin around, glaring at the vampire's back after you shut and lock the door. They don't seem to notice. "What was that about?"
"Hm? What do you mean?" Tabaeus doesn't even turn to face you as they head into the kitchen.
"That tension!" Undeterred, you follow the vampire, your feet moving fast as if Tabaeus would run away. Something inside you cringes, hearing your heavy footfalls as angry stomps. "It was like being between two large animals that were ready to tear each other apart."
"Ah," is all they say as they line the boxes on the counter. One-by-one, Tabaeus opens the boxes to examine the pizzas and breadsticks and brownie lava cake, before poking into a plastic bag that holds your sodas. They're refusing to meet your eye.
"Ah? Ah?" You mimic their answer, crossing your arms over your chest. Still, Tabaeus refuses to look at you. "That's all you have to say?"
"Well, your assessment is not wrong."
That answer momentarily knocks the air from your lungs. Your determination of the situation - being stuck between Tabaeus and Ewan - being akin to being surrounded by two large beasts is not wrong? What the hell did that mean?
Your brain sputters answers, but you don't want to look too long at them. Part of you is afraid what might be correct.
"Why is my assessment not wrong?" The question comes off more like a demand as you watch Tabaeus glide around the kitchen, accumulating plates and utensils. With a steadfast air, they ignore your question.
As you continue to watch them, a dread swells in your stomach. They only smile as they hand you a plate, heaped with pizza and breadsticks. With wide angry eyes, you stare up at them and your voice quivers at the edges, "Tabaeus, why is my assessment not wrong?"
They do not answer. Instead, they turn to put a slice of pizza and a breadstick on their own plate.
You do not like how they're ignoring you. Without thinking, you noisily drop your plate to the counter, where it clatters and threatens to spill. The noise startles the vampire, who turns to you with wide eyes.
"Tabaeus, you tell me what is going on right now!" At your sides, your hands fist into tight balls. You try to ignore the waver to your voice, overcome with the sudden thought that something is going on that you're ignorant of.
Was Tabaeus keeping a secret, knowing it would give away potential lies they'd told? Did they know Ewan, personally? Was this some worldwide conspiracy to keep creatures of the night a secret from humanity?
The growing itch in your thoughts that had begun in the sewer morphed into a clawing sensation, razing in your synapses. What was Tabaeus hiding?
Your mind spun with questions and theories and worries. The revolving thoughts churned harder, making your stomach hurt, the longer it took Tabaeus to answer.
"I do not know," Tabaeus started, quietly and carefully. Their eyes turned toward your plate, their brows knitted with frustration. Carefully, they lower their own plate to the counter, perhaps to keep from throwing it down themselves. "All I know is that thing is... is..."
No more words come, even after you give them a few breaths to sort through whatever thoughts mill about their head. With a frown, you bite out, "Ewan is what?"
"Dangerous and vile, but simultaneously arrogant and harmless. Capable of rending humans in twain, but weak compared to a vampire." The words rush out of Tabaeus's mouth, rage and anger mangling their tone into something ragged. All the while, they shake their head, as if not entirely certain of their own words, a hint of confusion hiding under the venom. "A mangy creature that believes it owns the night when it emphatically does not."
Savagely, Tabaeus spits out as their snarl deepens, "It does not own anything but fleas."
Quiet falls in the empty space between you both as Tabaeus still refuses to meet your gaze. Their shoulders hunch with tension and a frown carves deep across their lips. A glow pulses in their red eyes, their fangs noticeably growing and overlapping their lower lip.
"That doesn't sound like you don't know what Ewan is," you say carefully, your own brows furrowed. You can't put your finger on it, but something seems off with Tabaeus. At once, worry and uncertainty tumble through your thoughts.
Tabaeus shifts on their feet, casting their eyes to the other side of the kitchen but not toward you. "I do not. I just know how he makes me feel."
You narrow your eyes, a suspicion hedging into your forethoughts. "Are werewolves a thing?"
The word makes Tabaeus stiffen, their eyes widening. A considering look crosses their features, their fingers going to their chin in thought. "That feels correct."
"Are you saying Ewan is a werewolf?"
"Yes," Tabaeus announces after another moment of silent thought. They finally turn their eyes to you, a renewed sense of affirmation in their tone as their hands clench. "Ewan is a smelly, stinking, mangy lycanthrope. And you offered him a place in our home!"
It takes a lot of self-discipline to keep from snapping back at Tabaeus. The house was not an 'ours' situation. It was yours. This was their payment for you agreeing to be a feeding bag. The bite of your nails in your palms distracts from the instant irritation.
You take a deep breath, trying to think through the issue at hand.
If lore or media was to be believed, there was active hostility between vampires and werewolves. It also sounded as if Tabaeus was being territorial. Either about the house or about the night, as a whole. Their actions didn't make sense to you. Not after the time you had spent with the vampire.
They were sweet and kind, perhaps a little naive. Definitely prone to temptation, when it came to blood. This bristling, hate-filled rage felt anomalous to what you were used to.
From an animalistic point of view, however, it did make sense. Holding possession over certain territories and resources was an instinct. Of course, it was perhaps harder for vampires to retain control of such things rather than werewolves. The latter didn't have to drink blood or only travel at night.
If what Tabaeus said about Ewan was true, you had been none-the-wiser to the canid monster as well!
"I didn't know he was a werewolf," you say once you feel the words will come out levelly. There's still a heat to your reply and you return Tabaeus's glare with one of your own. Your lips screw up into a frown, trying to equate what you know of Ewan to a werewolf. In a way, you suppose he could be.
The man was loyal and playful, like a dog, but he could get fierce when needed. There had been plenty of times he'd stepped in when a customer flirted in unwanted ways or when a seriously aggro customer was throwing a fit. Hell, you had seen him literally vault over the Lemon Jollies's counter once and run down a mall patron that was attempting to take off with someone else's toddler!
And it was hard to hang out with him, after hours. He always claimed he had another job to scurry off to, but what if he was hiding his own nature?
Shaking the memories from your head, you heave a sigh. "Even if I did know that, he's a decent person! He has, like, zero red flags, which is pretty rare."
Those words caused Tabaeus to still. In a dangerous way. You eye them, cocking an eyebrow, just before he quietly asks, "And how many red flags do I have?"
At that, you press your lips tightly together.
"How many red flags do I have?" Tabaeus repeats, their fists clenching tightly at their sides.
"It's hard for me to say, for sure." Which is true. It's hard to gauge Tabaeus, especially when his personality has changed and shifted so many times. Before tonight, you chalked it up to them healing from whatever happened to them. With this new snag, you're not sure. They talked about werewolves in a fashion that feels too un-Tabaeus to you. But, you barely knew them, didn't you?
As you internally fret over that, you try to answer the vampire's question. You can't help gesturing with your hands as you speak, the stress of everything making it hard to contain yourself. "You don't have solid memories, but you say things that worry me. Sometimes, I wonder if this is all just a big trick. That you do know who you are and you still have memories."
Instead of instant anger and rage, as you brace yourself for, a stricken look crosses Tabaeus's features. They take a step toward you and, to your credit, you stand your ground. "I swear to you, amata, my memories are not whole. I am not tricking you."
There was an urgent desperation in Tabaeus's words as they touched their own chest, their palm splayed wide. The look in their eyes is so full of emotions - so earnest and pained and hopeful - you can't hold their gaze. You recall the scars on their torso and chest, your stomach lurching as you remember the ones that bore a resemblance to autopsy cuts.
"All I know for certain is you drink blood and are capable of hypnotizing people if you wanted to." The words slip past softly your lips, your eyes shifting to a dark corner of the kitchen. There is so much you don't know about Tabaeus, so much they don't know about themselves. Their request to have you lay out their red flags feels so unfair.
"That is all you are certain of when it comes to me?" Tabaeus is looking for a certain answer. Hoping for a certain answer. A quick flash of memory, of the tangled mess on the floor the two of you were before the pizza arrived, sends a painful heat across your cheeks. Embarrassed, excited, mortified.
"Yes, mostly." Pain throbs through your temple and you feel the need to retreat and gather up your wits. Grabbing your plate, you turn on your heel and head toward your office. "Look, I'm hungry and you just unloaded some things I need to think about, okay?"
Leaving Tabaeus in the kitchen, not even waiting for their response, you retreat to your office.
There, you put your headphones on and put on a mindless show as you eat, hoping for a few moments of reprieve from a sudden whirlwind of emotion and information. You barely taste the pizza as your mind gnaws on other things.
What would have happened if the kiss had continued? If there had been no food delivery to interrupt it? Your thoughts spill over with imagined scenarios, making your anger-flushed cheeks burn with other emotions.
Of course, it had been interrupted. By Ewan.
Who was possibly a werewolf...
The animosity between werewolves and vampires ran deep. To the point Tabaeus seethed and said things that seemed fairly out-of-character for them. Their words were so atypical, you find your brain reminding you of the anti-vampire box. And of the journal you have yet to thumb through, which may give you insight into Tabaeus.
Tomorrow, you decide, as you chew at a pizza crust. You'll look at it tomorrow, mid-day, when Tabaeus rests.
As you eat, you catch the sound of Tabaeus's footfalls as they head downstairs, to their own barely furnished room with its large refrigerator box acting as a coffin. The two of you were planning to go to a thrift store soon, in hopes of making the area feel more lived in. You're not sure when that will happen now.
You ignore the urge to follow after them, to apologize, to reassure them, to continue the conversation. How can you reassure them when you have, once again, had your own reality turned upside down?
You are going to finish your food, you decide, then head upstairs to bed. Perhaps a solid floor between you and your vampire friend will do the both of you some good.
It will give you the space you need, as you navigate new revelations.
For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?
Links under cut!
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Part 18 is already available in full on my Patreon!
The shock of the run-in with Lachlan runs out by the time the three of you get home, the sun already beginning to set. Not even five minutes through the door, your brain is already churning with ideas, ways to fight back, ways to save Tabaeus. As you kick off your shoes and stride further into the living room, turning on lights, you turn to your two companions, “Alright, he gave us a day. We should plan what to do.”
“What do you mean?” Ewan shoots you a curious look as he flops down on the couch. There’s something wilted about his posture, as if he was a dog exhaustedly returning home after being dumped elsewhere.
Eager to get planning, your feet propel you into a back and forth pace as your hands gesticulate. “We could booby trap the house. If it’s all anti-vampire stuff, Tabaeus would need to stay somewhere safe, but-”
“No. There’s no way to defeat Lachlan.” Tabaeus suddenly steps between you and Ewan, casting a desperate expression between the two of you. Their movement has halted your pacing.
Your eyebrows furrow, confusion dampening your verve as your hands fall to yoru sides. “But-”
“There is no way,” Tabaeus hisses, that desperation in their eyes tinged with miserable fear. Their pointed ears droop a little as they step away, turning their back on you and Ewan. Removing his hat and setting it on a nearby hat rack, Tabaeus’s voice softens and cracks, “He always finds me, always drags me back.”
Ewan sits a little straighter, his concern piquing. You and the werewolf share a worried look, but say nothing. With the appearance of Lachlan, you’re not surprised that memories have finally triggered in Tabaeus.
Lachlan had been… a lot to take in. Intimidating and powerful, affecting a whole library with some sort of enthrallment. An icy sort of vileness in his movements and words. The promise of danger.
But you and Ewan don’t have the experience, the traumatic memories, that Tabaeus undoubtedly holds in reference to the other vampire. It’s a bit disheartening that, after so long trying to figure out Tabaeus’s amnesia, Lachlan is there to sully the recollections.
“What did he mean by punishments?” The words come out of you before you can consider them. Tabaeus’s back stiffens at the question, but they remain turned away. Licking your lips, you take a step forward and softly push, “Tabaeus?”
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Part 18 is already available in full on my Patreon!
